Jungle Heat
by Kristen999
Summary: Teyla's mind roams on a tropical planet with John. Friendship. Written for a friend who wanted to see a certain colonel without his shirt.


Title: "Jungle Heat" (1/1)  
Author: Kristen999  
Character(s): Teyla and John  
Genre(s): Stargate Atlantis: General- Friendship  
Rating: K  
Words: 2,335  
Summary: Teyla's mind roams on a tropical planet with John. 

Notes: Written for my good friend as a birthday gift who wanted to see a certain colonel without his shirt. This is not a shipper's story, but I think a realistic view of fleeting thoughts.

* * *

She thinks of the yellow petals of the deyla flower in full bloom during the rains of her world. The silky softness under her fingers, the green stems lush with droplets of water. How she longs for the coolness of dew, the sweet odor of the velvety center, the hues orange with tiny fuzzy buds. During a high summer, the soil dried up into crusty bricks within days, the thriving greens, withered to sickly browns and the once full bloom of delicate foliage turned to dust.

Teyla wipes at her brow, locks of hair matted to her slick forehead. A patina of perspiration coats every exposed surface of her body and soaks fabric where it lays against her skin. The ground simmers from the steam; her entire body reminds her of the wilted blossoms during that horrendous heat wave.

Despite the oppressive temperature she presses on, her P90 dangling loosely from her fingertips. They had left their tac vests several miles back, the added layer of clothing too suffocating. John's pace is slow, but steady. His sunglasses reflect the jungle, shielding his eyes from direct sunlight. The rest of his face is borderline red. The flush of his cheeks concerns her, but if she had a mirror she's sure they would have matching sunburns.

They don't talk, since it wastes too much energy. All of John's hair is drenched with perspiration, with very few parts sticking out in his usual messy style. Most of it is plastered down by sweat that evaporates as fast as it beads. His black t-shirt clings to his body, stained and untucked from his pants. He should remove it to combat the sweltering tropical environment. He can't though, despite how oppressive things feel, how the swelter sucks the air right out of their lungs. John needs to stay protected from harmful rays.

She's all golden skin and not in as much danger from years working outside. She wears little more than a tank top, and her pants breathe easily through the light linen material. Though his eyes are veiled by dark aviator glasses, she senses that this might be the one time he regrets wearing the color black. It only magnifies and broils his skin.

"It is good that you are used to this type of weather," Teyla comments, considering how well he's holding up.

The colonel grins. "Miles of sand has a way of making a lasting impression."

He hasn't complained once. John is capable of whining about a great many things. He can be very impatient, despises paper work and doesn't ever like feeling out of control. He's not Rodney. Thinking of the scientist in these harsh conditions, battling dense jungle and flying insects makes her smile.

It's been an exhausting hike. A long time to trek for hours, without shelter from the humidity. They are not in danger from hostiles or angry natives, just the unrelenting suns in the sky. The puddle jumper was brought down by an energy spike from the planet. None of the systems were operational and it soon became an oven roasting them inside. They were not due back till late and Atlantis did not expect check ins because of known communication problems.

Why did they always find planets that interfered with their equipment?

John nearly trips over a hidden root, his recovery not very graceful. He leans both hands on his knees, to catch his breath. Despite his joke of earlier Teyla knows there is a sharp difference between arid deserts and the torrid tropics. Even the strap and weight of his 9 mil appear to be too much of a burden around his leg. She'd never suggest he remove it the colonel would never take the risk of being unarmed.

"Perhaps we should rest for a while," she offers.

John shakes his head. "We can't."

"You look tired," she points out.

The colonel removes his shades, then takes the hem of his shirt to mop at his face. He stands blinking in the brightness all around them, then unfastens his canteen and offers it to her first. "Thirsty?"

She knows that's called a rhetorical question. Teyla is fully aware he won't take any until she has a few sips. The tepid liquid is unsatisfying and barely able to quench her dry throat.

She hands it back to him and gives the colonel her sternest glare when he hesitates. "We are both dehydrated you need to drink some."

"We need to conserve more. According to my readings we have another ten hours before we reach the 'gate, if no one finds us out here." He takes the canteen and presses the fabric covered steel against his face, seeking relief. Lines of sweat roll down his neck and over his collar bone.

She's never meet someone who constantly puts himself last to everyone else. "More the reason to take your share. The days are very long on this planet and night will not fall anytime soon."

John rubs the back of his neck, causing his dog tags to clank together. Her eyes trace the tiny metal links of the chain until they disappear under the sweat-darkened fabric. The definitions of his body are hard to ignore when his clothes mold to every muscle. She steps closer, grabbing his hand and forcing the water into it, arching an eyebrow in a no nonsense way. She can feel the heat emanate from him and being in his personal space, makes the tiny hairs along her neck stand out despite the sweat.

"Yes mom," he jokes, taking a large gulp.

Teyla watches his throat muscles work as he swallows. For a moment she doesn't move, enthralled by this close proximity that doesn't involve stick fighting or a cramped jumper. It's a fleeting moment, one she pushes way deep down. It's not quite a foreign impulse, but it doesn't belong here. With him.

This is John and she will not go there.

The time for recuperation is over and John lifts his P90, checking the safety out of reflex. She does the same thing and waits for him to slip his shades back on. They may cover the green of his eyes, but she can always read his mood.

"Why are they called aviators?" She inquires as they begin walking again.

He grins as if she doesn't get an Earth joke. "Pilots are also called aviators, or airmen. We like to wear these types of sunglasses. They're good to keep the glare down and..," he pauses looking at her. "Easy to wear under a helmet."

"They are very... fashionable," she remarks.

"That too." John grins.

The two move through the dense brush, slapping away plants and branches.

They share a comfortable silence for almost an hour when she feels a slight breeze whip at her cheeks. She closes her eyes relishing the movement of air and draws a deep breath into her lungs. Pausing to take in the reprieve Teyla turns to see the colonel fan himself by flapping the front of his shirt.

He leans his back against a tree during another soft gust of wind and talks softly. "You feel the difference? The moisture?"

"We are in a humid forest, it's bound to rain."

"Don't think it's rain. If I'm right, then I see swim suits in our future." John pats her shoulder and takes off at a brisk pace.

John Sheppard often speaks of 'gut feelings' and something called a i _spidey /i _sense. Teyla can never get an explanation about this insect intuition. When she confronted Rodney about it once he just laughed and said he was a DC fan, not Marvel. She quit seeking answers after that, but knew to trust the colonel whenever he felt such things.

The uneven ground begins to smooth out into a worn path and the temperature drops as they pass through cooler air. She has to run faster to catch up to John who's plowed ahead and as she nears what has caught his attention, she hears him whoop happily. Her tired muscles flood with renewed energy and she almost collides into him.

John grabs her by the shoulders. "Come on, the water looks fantastic!"

"Water?" Teyla hasn't seen John this giddy in a while and she catches his fever and her eyes light up at the small stream ahead of them.

She thinks about possible dangers in the river. Underwater predators, diseases or poisonous insects. They know not to tempt fate on any mission. Teyla opens her mouth to express her concern, when she freezes at John's attempt to remove his t-shirt.

His arms are crossed, biceps flexing as he lifts the sodden fabric upwards, revealing his flat stomach and abs. His dog tags cling to his chest and for the first time she notes the dark hair there matches the normally spiky mess of his head. The soaked fabric of his shirt, peels away slowly, as it slides over his shoulders, covering his face. Lifting his arms up, stretches all the lean muscle of his slender frame into a beautiful arc.

For such a wiry man, John possesses strength gained from running, training and constantly working out. He's not a hulking warrior like Ronon or even the beefiest of marines. His build allows quick reflexes and great agility.

After a struggle to get it over his head, John folds his shirt quickly and plops it on the ground. It's not like Teyla hasn't seen John shirtless before. It just strikes her that every other time has been the result of an infirmary visit or back to the nightmares of his run-in with the iratus bug. Her focus during that time had been solely on trying to keep him alive and it never drifted once to unprofessional feelings.

Feigning nonchalance she walks over to see him smirking.

"Only thing better would be lots of surf." The colonel is excited and it's infectious.

John's BDUs hang low around his slim hips; the top parts of his boxers peek out and it takes great concentration not to stare. Teyla is not naïve; the colonel is an attractive man and it's natural for her to feel a surge like this at the sight of him, caught up in the moment.

John's breathing hard from his run to get here and her concern overrides any other responses.

"You should go cool off."

John hesitates but she's a step ahead of him. "Go. I'll be right behind you."

He edges closer to the stream and out of respect, keeps his back turned. They are both adults, both soldiers. She hears him unfasten his belt and watches as he quickly steps out of his BDUs. Her focus lingers longer in admiration, but her regard for him is stronger and Teyla looks away. She begins to strip out of her own clothes. Putting back on wet garments would only lead to a rash and days of discomfort.

Being fully removed of her own layers, sends a pleasant chill down her spine and Teyla enjoys the slight breeze from the running stream. She watches John out of the corner of her eye slip out of his boxers. The view of his strong, lean, back as the rest of him enters the water is a mental image she'll keep locked away.

Teyla can imagine the contented expression of his features the moment his burning skin makes contact with the flowing river. He wades in deeper and after a respectful distance, her feet enter. Slowly she makes her way in, until the water rises to cover her body. She doesn't know how deep it may go, but swims further in the mild current.

It's amazing to have the grit and grime wash away from her flesh. Teyla dives under, allowing the circulating water over the muscles of her back. She swims over looking for John, never wanting to be too far away from the colonel. They are still on a strange planet and it's never good to be split up for any amount of time.

Teyla doesn't see him for a few moments and she begins to scan the area. Her heart pounds searching, when the water explodes just a couple feet away. John breaks the surface, shaking his head and splashing her. He bobs up and down, water dripping down his forehead and collecting in his eyelashes. John's dark hair is soaked completely flat and he wipes drops from his face.

"Hey, Teyla."

His eyes are green, but they reflect a mixture of color right now. His completion seems cooler and not as flushed from before.

"Feel better?" She inquires, knowing the answer.

"My flesh doesn't feel like is going to melt from my bones." He gives her a crooked smile.

"I was going for refreshing, but I'm glad you are not suffering from the effects of the heat anymore."

The silver chain still fascinates her, the dog tags hidden by the stream this time. There is temptation and she steps closer until very little space is between them. Teyla hesitantly touches the links of metal and the colonel doesn't stop her, though his eye twitches.

"Will you ever take these off?"

His fingers cover hers, a droplet from his chin splashes her wrist. "No."

She can hear his heavy breathing and notices how still he holds himself. Teyla backs away, letting go of his hand. "They will always be a part of you."

After a moment of silence, John nods.

Teyla begins to swim away, when he reaches out to grab her arm. He opens his mouth to speak, but this is John. He's not good at communicating emotions or feelings.

"Shhhhh," she tells him and smiles. "I feel the same way."

When a puddle jumper flies overhead, then the moments of serenity are over. They will always be two leaders, two warriors, two friends. Teyla is content to live like this and she could never really imagine the connection to John any other way.


End file.
